Seven Days
by CycloneT
Summary: If he hadn’t been covered from head to toe in ugly pusfilled blisters that itched like crazy, he probably would have enjoyed the attention. [SheppardWeir]


Title: Seven Days  
Author: Cyclone  
Rating: PG13  
Summary: If he hadn't been covered from head to toe in ugly pus-filled blisters that itched like crazy, he probably would have enjoyed the attention.  
Disclaimer: I've said it before and I'll say it again – if they were mine they would have christened the puddle jumpers already. That is all.  
Notes: Written as part of the Sheppard/Weir ficathon last year. I finally got around to posting it here. My challenge: peanut butter, wacky alien disease fallout trauma, and privacy. The disease trauma was tough but I think I managed it. I aplogise for my lack of knowledge in all things medical. 

Thanks to Shane for her wonderful beta skills.

XxX

Elizabeth's quarters  
Thursday, 22:17

"Peanut butter."

"Peanut butter?" Elizabeth echoed with a laugh. "Out of all the things in the entire world, that's what you miss the most?"

"Yep. Peanut butter and football. Oh, and waterbeds, too," John replied, and tried to look hurt when Elizabeth laughed again. "You wouldn't be laughing at me if I had you on a waterbed," he said in a low voice. "The things I could do to you . . ."

"Would be the same things you do to me here, only I'd probably get sea sick. And aren't waterbeds kind of . . ."

"What?"

"Cliché?"

"You insult the water bed? For shame, Elizabeth. I'll have you know that I did some of my best work on a waterbed."

"I happen to like the work you do now," she retorted, biting his chest.

He inhaled sharply as Elizabeth's sharp teeth pulled at his skin. "You like my work, huh?"

"I'm a big fan. Huuuuge," she reiterated, biting him again.

"Perhaps the lady would permit me to show her an example of something I've been working on?"

"The lady would," she grinned, and then squealed as John flipped her onto her back and dove beneath the sheets.

XxX

"What about you?" he asked, some time later.

Elizabeth snuggled into his side and yawned. "What about me what?"

"What do you miss most?"

Without hesitation she replied, "My dog."

"I know that," he said, kissing the bridge of her nose. "But what else? What secret desire does Doctor Weir hold in her heart?"

"Mmmm. Apart from body chocolate?"

"I _so_ wish I knew you back on Earth," John groaned, and kissed her again when Elizabeth chuckled.

"Seriously? Flowers. I miss flowers."

He could do flowers. For her, he could do bunches and bunches of flowers. "Next planet we visit, I'll bring you back some flowers," he promised.

"That would be nice," she smiled.

"If only my peanut butter issues could be resolved so easily."

"You know," she began, propping herself up on one elbow, "I think I know where I could acquire some."

"Wait a minute. There is peanut butter somewhere in the city and I'm only now hearing about it?"

"I only now found out that you wanted some!"

"Don't toy with me, Elizabeth. I have serious cravings."

"I wouldn't dream of toying with you or your . . . cravings."

"I'm leaving tomorrow. Will you have it by the time I get back?"

"Let me see what I can do."

Gateroom  
Friday,14:32

When he stepped through the gate he was met by complete and utter silence. He thought that was pretty impressive, considering the circumstances. Stunned silence was one thing, but awed silence – awed silence was something that a person only experienced once or twice in his lifetime. And awed silence from a room full of people who had travelled through several galaxies to find an ancient city and awaken life-draining vampiric aliens was quite a feat.

If he hadn't been covered from head to toe in ugly pus-filled blisters that itched like crazy, he probably would have enjoyed the attention. As it was, the awed stares were beginning to take on more of an, 'oh my god, that is so gross' quality and he was feeling a tad self-conscious.

"It looks worse than it is," he said to no one in particular, scratching absently at his neck.

"It'd have to be," he heard someone mutter, and was stopped from finding the culprit and rubbing his infected face all over them by the arrival of Elizabeth. At least she didn't look disgusted so much as amused. And there was a hint of concern in her eyes as well that made him want to smile through the pustules.

She stopped in front of him and assessed the damage. "Are you –" She had intended on asking if he was okay, but since the angry red splotches that covered his face, neck and hands told her that he was clearly _not_ okay she took a new direction and instead called for help. "Carson. Get him to the infirmary. Try not to touch him – we don't know if he's contagious yet."

"It's not like I brought the plague back with me," John defended as Carson waved him through a parted berth of technicians and other onlookers towards the infirmary.

"With all due respect, Major, we don't know that yet, do we?" Carson replied.

"Teyla and the others are fine. So far it seems that I'm the only one infected."

"And we would like to keep it that way, so if you don't mind I'd like to get you into isolation and have a good look at you."

"Okay, okay, I'm coming. Keep your pants on."

XxX

Infirmary  
Saturday, 8:03

"How do you feel?" Carson asked.

"It only itches when I scratch," John replied wanly. "I don't think that lotion you gave me is helping much – my skin is on fire."

Carson fussed around him, inspecting his arms, neck and face. "It doesn't look like it's improved any. How's your headache?"

"Pounding."

"And the nausea?"

"Still there."

"Hmmm. Interesting. For all intents and purposes it looks like a virulent strain of poison oak. I've never seen a case as bad as yours, of course, or as . . . messy. The nausea and headache concern me though. Not like poison oak at all."

"It's not poison oak," John stated. "I've had poison oak before and I've never reacted like this."

"Obviously not. But by the same token you've never had alien poison oak either. For all we know this might be exactly how people react in this galaxy."

"It wasn't poison oak," he pushed on stubbornly. "It was a flower. In a patch of pretty, pink flowers, that were supposed to be . . ."

"Supposed to be what?"

John took one look around the fuller than usual infirmary and declined to answer. Apparently the novelty of a walking, talking Air Force Major covered in ugly, pus-filled blisters hadn't worn off yet.

"Never mind."

"What on earth possessed you to touch them though?"

"It's not like I knew this would happen," John protested loudly. "They looked just like normal, harmless flowers. I didn't know they would do this to me."

"The large warning sign that was nailed beside them didn't alert you to the danger?" Elizabeth asked, as she entered the bustling infirmary and approached his bed, trying hard to subdue her smirk.

"It's not like I can read Filengese," he scowled, scratching his arm furiously.

"But Teyla said that she warned you not to touch them. And stop scratching."

"She may have muttered something . . . _after_ the fact. It was too late by then," he retorted, ignoring her.

Elizabeth grabbed his arm and held it firmly. "You'll only make it worse."

John pulled his arm away and resumed scratching. "Well then I guess I'll make it worse."

"John –"

"Don't touch me, Elizabeth. Just in case."

Her eyes met Carson's and they exchanged looks. "How is he?"

"_He_ is right here and capable of answering for himself." He turned toward the grinning throng of people who were lingering a discreet distance from his bed, but still had no valid reason for being in the infirmary. "And could I have a little privacy here, please? I'm not a freak show."

Elizabeth glanced at the surrounding crowd and ordered them out with a lift of her brow.

"Thank you," John called after them sarcastically. "Your concern for my wellbeing is touching but the show is over."

She frowned in concern after another silent exchange with Carson. "I'll come back when you're a little less testy," she promised John and turned to walk away, beckoning that Carson should follow her.

"'Lizabeth, I didn't mean you," John said to her back. "Just everyone else. I'm tired of feeling like I'm the major attraction at the circus. I just want to be left alone for a while."

She stopped and turned back around. "People care about you, John. They just want to make sure that you're okay."

"People don't care that much," he scoffed.

"I think you'd be surprised at how much people actually do care."

Carson's eyes flickered between the two of them in sudden understanding. "I'll see if I have anything else that might stop the itching," he offered, when neither of them seemed in any hurry to break the silence.

Elizabeth looked at Carson. "Is he . . ." she began, then broke off and addressed her question to John. "Are you contagious?"

John shrugged. "Doc?"

"No, you don't seem to be," he replied, before turning to Elizabeth. "He has some nausea and a headache but apart from that he's fine."

"I ooze," John objected. "How can I be fine?"

"Better out than in, my old mum always said," Carson said cheerfully as he left the room. "I won't be long."

"So." Elizabeth perched herself on the bed. "Flowers, huh?"

"Yep. Flowers." He sighed and scratched idly at his face. "It's not funny, Elizabeth."

"I'm not laughing," she protested.

"You're smiling."

"I'm just glad that you're alright."

"Liar."

"John!"

"Well, you are. You may be glad that I'm alright, but you're so laughing at me in that deceitful head of yours."

"Well, maybe chuckling," she admitted. "But since you're not contagious I think I can do this," she said, and picked up his hand and squeezed it gently. "I'm sorry you're covered in pustules because you were trying to do something nice for me."

"Was worth it, for that smile."

"I'd kiss you if you weren't so…"

"Ugly?"

"Red and splotchy," she corrected. "And oozing."

"Fine. But as soon as I stop oozing I'm going to collect."

"I'd expect nothing less."

XxX

Gate room  
Saturday, 13:42

Elizabeth was going over some reports when Carson's voice interrupted the relative peace of her office. "Doctor Weir. I think you should come down here."

Elizabeth tapped her earpiece. "Carson. Is everything alright?"

There was a pause. "Just – come down, Elizabeth."

XxX

Infirmary  
13:57

Elizabeth made it to the infirmary in record time. "What happened?"

"He complained of feeling hot," Carson replied. "The he started convulsing. We've managed to stop that but he's been lapsing in and out of consciousness."

"Is he going to be okay?" she asked worriedly.

John looked terrible. He had tubes attached everywhere and the oozing pus had turned into seeping blood.

"We think so. Teyla says that convulsions are the last symptom of the poison and as soon as his body works it out of his system he'll be fine."

"How certain are you that that will be the case?"

"As certain as I can be when dealing with anything alien."

"Carson –"

"He's okay, Elizabeth. He doesn't look very good right now but he's as stable as he can be. We just have to wait it out."

She knew he was right; she knew there was nothing she could do and nothing that she could say that would make a difference. So she pulled up a chair and sat beside him, stroking his arm though the fabric of his shirt, and prayed to whoever was listening that Carson was right.

Because she couldn't lose him.

XxX

John's quarters  
Thursday, 14:15

They'd kept him under observation for a further three days after he'd recovered consciousness for good. He'd hated each and every minute of it. Finally he was given the all clear and allowed back to his own quarters, with strict instructions to get into bed and stay there. So far, he was quite enjoying his enforced isolation. Elizabeth was proving to be a very attentive nursemaid and he behaved much better for her than he had for Carson.

"Here," she said, propping another pillow behind his back. "If you're going to eat in bed you should at least be sitting."

"Thank you."

She stretched out beside him and watched as he squeezed the contents of the tube onto his finger and then proceeded to slowly suck it off. She'd made good with her promise of peanut butter, and he fully intended to savour it.

"Want some?" he offered.

"Please," she replied, and made a move to reach for the tube.

"Nah-uh," he said with a grin. "You want to share my peanut butter you eat it my way."

"John –"

"My way, Elizabeth."

"Okay, fine. Your way."

He spread some more on his finger and offered it to her. Her tongue swirled around the tip before she drew it into her mouth. He hitched a breath as her teeth lightly grazed him. "Why are we eating it like this?" she asked.

"Peanut butter always tastes better when you eat it off someone else. I thought everyone knew that."

"I haven't heard that one."

"You've never eaten peanut butter off anyone before?"

"Not peanut butter, no."

"As soon as I feel better we really need to talk," he groaned. "I can't believe you've been holding out on me."

Elizabeth smiled. "Doesn't it get awfully sticky?" she asked, bringing his attention back to the food group at hand.

"Oh yeah," he sighed. "That's the best part."

"Let me have a turn."

John handed her the tube and waited expectantly.

"Are you sure you're up for this?" she asked, cocking her eyebrow.

"I'm _always_ up for peanut butter body shots."

"Well then," she smiled with an evil glint in her eyes, "Where would you like me to put it?"

End.


End file.
